


Above all

by apathyinreverie



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Danny owns a restaurant, Family, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams, Romance, no rachel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathyinreverie/pseuds/apathyinreverie
Summary: Grace has always had a tendency to bring home strays. Injured or half-starved animals that she’d smuggle home in her backpack for them to fix or to nurse back to health.Which is fine. Danny is used to it these days.However, staring down at the unconscious, bleeding, armed-to-his-teethNavy SEAL– as in, most certainly not the adorable, fuzzy sea animal sort of seal – who his baby girl apparently decided to bring home this time, Danny thinks maybe he should have been a little more adamant in explaining to her what does and whatvery much doesn’tcount as a potential stray for her to adopt.-The one where everything is a little different but somehow nothing really changes, and Steve finds a home in the last place he expected to ever feel home again.
Relationships: Danny "Danno" Williams & Grace Williams, Steve McGarrett & Grace Williams, Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
Comments: 116
Kudos: 560





	1. Chapter 1

The day actually starts out fairly normal, just another ordinary Saturday in their lives.

Well, as ‘normal’ as their days ever get anymore nowadays. You know, ever since the two of them decided to move to the tail-end of the country in a bid to escape the painful memories after Rachel’s accident.

His wife who died in a car crash, rammed off the road by a drunk driver while she had _inexplicably_ been in the car of some guy Danny has not-so-genial suspicions about. His wife who he had been going through a rather messy divorce with at the time, who he might have even hated more than a little at that point.

But Rachel is gone and no matter how much they had honestly despised each other by the end of it, he’d also still loved her, likely always will love her somewhat, if for no other reason than because she had given him Gracie.

He wants to remember Rachel as his wife, the mother of his daughter, the woman who he had had a decent run at a good life with. If he gets a choice, he doesn’t want to know what her relationship with this Edwards guy was before her death, why she was in the guy’s car while dressed to the nines, after having told Danny he could have Gracie for the night because her ‘business meeting’ was running late.

He simply doesn’t want to know whether she was sleeping with someone else before they ever managed to finalize their divorce, whether she was in a relationship with this Stan Edwards who had been driving the car and who survived the crash with a few broken bones while Rachel didn’t. Stan Edwards who seemed utterly incapable of meeting Danny’s eyes the few times they were in the same room, twice at the court house and once during the funeral.

But Danny just doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to wonder how long his wife-going-on-ex-wife might have been sleeping with someone else while they were still officially married.

At that point in time, he had already been busy enough trying to keep himself and Gracie together at all, his heart breaking every time he heard his daughter cry herself to sleep in her own bed because she was missing her mom, he himself just as unable to fall asleep in the bed he used to share with his wife.

Until he finally gave up and moved both himself and his daughter into the guest bedroom instead, Gracie clinging to him even in sleep, all sharp elbows and pointy knees and so many nightmares.

Just the memory of Gracie crying desperately into his shoulder, clinging to him, in absolute hysterics at the thought of Danny going back to work after she’d had another nightmare, because her mom used to say that Danno’s job was dangerous and Grace was terrified out of her mind that something might happen to him as well, still keeps him up on some nights.

He’d already had himself reassigned to desk duty at that point, for better hours and because it was far less dangerous than being out in the field. But sitting at a desk all day and only going over paperwork was starting to make him honestly hate the job he used to love.

So, Danny did something he never thought he’d ever do. He quit his job as a detective.

It hurt, god, did it hurt to quit the job he so loved doing.

But, between being a detective and being a dad, especially when he was all Gracie had left? Well, there was simply no choice to even really deliberate there.

Even then, watching his daughter practically sleepwalk through their house, a house that used to be their home but simply harbored too many memories at that point, broke his heart. They only made it for a few weeks of living in this ghost of a home before Danny decided it was slowly killing them both.

So, he’d packed up, decided they should move somewhere where they could start over, somewhere without memories in every room, around every corner.

The court case against the guy who had caused the accident - some stupidly rich douche bag who had a history of DUI and been out of his mind on drugs while driving and who’d gotten away from the accident with barely a scratch, and who Edwards’ lawyers had milked for every single dime he was worth, after Edwards had rather shiftily offered Danny to have his people take care of the case for both of them - saw to it that Danny had more than enough money to move Grace and himself somewhere else without having to sell their old house. You know, so they can choose to come back to it one day if they want to, once the wounds aren’t quite as fresh any longer.

And with nothing tying him to Jersey any longer, neither his job nor his home, they’d been free to entirely start over.

Well, he’d always thought he might open a restaurant one day. Admittedly, it had been more of a vague idea for his eventual retirement from the force, but he could deal with moving up his plans a little.

So, he told Gracie she’d be his sous-chef, and as his sous-chef she’d have to taste test everything he made. And she’d also get to pick the place where they’d move to. It was the first time after Rachel’s accident he saw her truly smile again and that alone made uprooting their entire lives absolutely worth it.

And at least Italian is one of those universal cuisines that is eaten quite literally anywhere around the world.

So, he’d let Gracie pick the place where they should move, honestly not caring where they’d end up beyond the fact that making pro and con lists for various parts of the country finally made her smile again. And once she saw the first picture of a dolphin while looking up the fiftieth state of their beautiful country, the decision had pretty much been made.

Hawaii.

Which… well, certainly not Danny’s first choice – to put it mildly – but anything for his baby girl.

Although, maybe he should have known she’d pick this place, not only because of the beaches and the palm trees and the dolphins, but also because _nothing_ in this place reminded her of home at all. This pineapple-infested hellhole of an island, where everything is backwards and people are quite simply insane and no one ever does things how they were supposed to be.

But as much as this entire island endlessly aggravates Danny, seeing Gracie slowly starting to return to her usual bubbly self, watching the dark circles underneath her eyes disappear more and more each day, listening to her chatter about her new friends and Mister Hoppy, decorating their new house and splashing about in the shallow water at the beach, made everything about this absolutely worth it.

The house they found here is actually rather nice. Small, just one story but more than enough room for the two of them, in a nice neighborhood, and – to Gracie’s delight – with a backyard leading straight out onto a small private beach.

It’s the sort of living Danny would never have been able to afford even in his wildest dreams if it weren’t for the money from that court case after Rachel’s accident. As it is, he wasn’t only able to set aside a nice never-to-be-touched-no-matter-what college fund for Gracie but also enough to afford the house he wanted on Oahu – even if it is really rather small compared to the other houses surrounding theirs – and even to set up his restaurant and _still_ have enough money in his accounts for him not to really worry about the immediate future.

Well, they haven’t really changed their style of living beyond that, still live as they did before when a cop’s salary had been all they’d had to live on. Danny’s family has always been the down-to-earth sort and he has no interest in changing that or teaching his daughter anything but exactly that.

Still, the reassurance of padded bank accounts does make life much less stressful in general.

They’ve been on Oahu for about a year already, Gracie having settled in fully and Danny actually enjoying running a restaurant even more than he honestly thought he would. The restaurant itself is even doing fairly well for a new place trying to establish itself amongst the many, many other places in Honolulu, even though his restaurant is almost exclusively visited by tourists.

You know, since Hawaiians in general are apparently rather stuck-up assholes who wouldn’t be caught dead at a place run by someone not originally from the islands and who think calling him a ‘short haole’ is the height of all wit.

It’s almost amusing how much their attempts at riling him simply do not bother Danny, which only tends to endlessly irritate them turn. But, well, he grew up in New Jersey, spent his entire life in and around either Jersey or New York, was a _cop_ for quite a number of those years. He has been called far worse just for _crossing the street_ than this surf-happy lot of laidback island-dwellers could possibly ever come up with. Being called a ‘non-Hawaiian’ or ‘outsider’ or ‘asshole from the mainland’ or how ever else you want to translate _haole_ is still just about the weakest insult he’s ever had thrown his way.

It’s also rather amusing to watch the natives grow increasingly frustrated when he simply doesn’t seem bothered by their jibes.

Point is, they are making a life for themselves here and – most importantly – Gracie is finally smiling freely again. And that is all that will ever really matter in Danny’s eyes.

Which also brings him back to his so far ‘ordinary’ day.

It’s Saturday and they just made it through the lunch rush at the restaurant, so Danny left his sous-chef – his _actual_ sous-chef, as in the adult one who he hired to run the kitchen for him in his absence – in charge of prepping for the dinner rush in a few hours while he and Gracie went home for a bit.

Because Gracie has homework to get started on and Danny himself rather desperately wants a shower. It’s a particularly humid day and his shirt is practically stuck to him because working in a kitchen for a few hours certainly doesn’t help matters.

Good lord, does he hate the weather here.

So, he leaves her in the living room to set up her school books while he goes to take a shower.

When he gets back, Grace isn’t actually at the dining room table doing homework as she’s supposed to be, but instead he can hear her chattering at something in their backyard, or ‘lanai’ as they apparently call it here. She is using that tone Danny knows all too well. The tone she uses when coaxing her collection of adopted strays.

Danny sighs even as he makes his way to the kitchen to grab the both of them something to drink, wondering what sort of creature she might have come across this time.

It’s the one thing that stayed from the time after Rachel’s accident. Gracie’s newly discovered fondness for bringing home strays.

It started right after they lost Rachel, when Gracie had been floundering, a mere shadow of herself, practically sleepwalking through their house during the day and crying herself to sleep every night, not wanting to eat or to drink or to do anything at all, and Danny barely able to _breathe_ with how much he worried for his little girl.

And then, one day, Gracie had come home from school with an injured songbird she found on the sidewalk, presenting it to Danny and asking wide-eyed and hopeful whether they could do something to help and fix it and _make it better_.

Danny had been so goddamn relieved to see her take interest in anything at all, he’d instantly done all he could to fix the bird’s broken wing, spending hours online or on the phone with various vets to figure out how to fix it, because Gracie was adamant they needed to do it themselves and not just bring the bird to a doctor.

In the end, the bird stayed with them right until the moment it was healed and could fly again, but Gracie had been smiling and happy as it took off. And Danny only realized a few days later that he might have shown a bit too much enthusiasm while fixing the bird, because Gracie apparently took his reaction as permission to promptly start smuggling every single creature that looked like it might be in need of any sort of help home with her in her backpack and then demand her Danno fix it before they’d send the animal out into the ‘wild’ again.

Back in Jersey’s suburbs it used to be just a random alley cat or a sewer rat or – on one memorable occasion – even a raccoon that she dragged home. However, ever since they moved to Hawaii, the variety of her strays has significantly… diversified. He is kind of waiting for the day she somehow manages to add a dolphin or a shark to her list of adopted strays.

But with it only being the two of them these day, Danny certainly doesn’t have the heart to tell Gracie ‘no, we can’t take care of the injured baby deer or the starving cat or the frog with the broken leg. Never mind that his monkey has turned into a veritable Disney princess these days with all the adorable forest creatures following her faithfully around whenever she is out in their backyard.

Although…

When he finally steps out onto the lanai, expecting at worst maybe a half-starved dog or possibly some sort of poisonous creepy crawly, only to find himself staring rather speechlessly at a barely conscious, wounded-in-several-places stranger apparently bleeding out on their porch. A stranger who also seems to be armed to his fucking teeth going by the numerous weapon holsters and the tactical vest and the – good lord above – face paint on his cheeks and forehead, like he climbed out of some war movie straight into their backyard.

Danny thinks maybe he should have been a little more adamant in explaining to his daughter what does and what _very much doesn’t_ count as a stray for her to adopt.

“Monkey,” Danny says quietly, taking a couple of quick steps to get closer, so he can remove her from the stranger’s immediate reach. Thankfully, she goes easily with the tug of his hand on her shoulder, happily attaches herself to his side instead. “What you got there?”

He asks it calmly. Like he is inquiring after the weather. The same way he would ask if it were another cat or puppy or even another poisonous snake she brought home. Instead of a guy who looks like he might have come straight out of a warzone.

“Look, Danno! I found a seal in our backyard!” she announces brightly. Then her eyes get round as she continues earnestly, “He is hurt, Danno. Can we fix him?”

And that? That look on her face right now? All earnest trust and hope and so much goddamn belief that her daddy can fix anything in the world? That’s the exact reason why Danny has never been able to say no to her bringing various creatures home with an admittedly somewhat disturbing frequency.

The guy’s eyes are barely open but he is apparently conscious enough to notice the arrival of someone else in the immediate vicinity, blinking lethargically up at Danny.

“Oh,” warzone guy murmurs. Before he adds on rather nonsensically, “You’re not a dog.”

Danny blinks.

“Well spotted,” he returns, can’t help the sarcasm even now. “And you’re _not_ a seal.”

The guy is now struggling to sit up slightly, enough so he can lean back against the side of their house, but something almost like a smirk quirking his lips as he asserts, “But I _am_.”

A second.

_Ah. Okay. So, ‘seal’ as in **SEAL** , then. That makes much more sense. You know, since this is very much **not** the adorable, fuzzy sea animal sort of seal._

Danny finds himself sighing. “Monkey,” he says, arm still wrapped around his daughter’s shoulders. “What did I say about what qualifies as a stray?”

“You said, ‘nothing that might eat a monkey like me’,” she promptly provides, all earnestly widened eyes. “Steve wouldn’t eat me. And he said he is a seal. So, he _counts_ ,” she finishes with a decisive nod. Like Danny couldn’t possibly argue with her logic.

“He _really_ doesn’t,” Danny sighs again.

He ignores the way the guy in front of them – Steve, was it? – is now definitely grinning in amusement at the two of them, even though he must be in a stupid amount of pain. You know, considering the two gunshot wounds – one to his leg and one to his upper arm – that Danny can see even from here.

“Gracie,” Danny scolds gently. “We talked about this. No bringing home people-strays. We can fix animals, but people belong in hospitals.”

Her pout becomes more pronounced, now with the added puppy dog eyes that Danny is absolutely used to seeing but still isn’t in any way immune to.

But before she can actually say anything in protest, the guy suddenly twitches, almost like he might be trying to pull himself upright. “No hospitals,” he says, though it’s not nearly as assertive as he is likely going for. You know, since he also looks like he is on the verge of passing out right then and there.

Although, Danny also has to wonder… If this guy really _is_ Navy - as in, US armed forces - then why is he alone. And why in god’s name is he bleeding out from gunshot wounds on Danny’s porch.

This is Hawaii, and as far as it might admittedly be removed from the rest of their country, it is still very much part of the beautiful US of A. So, unless Danny somehow missed some massive political upheaval in the past couple of hours, there shouldn’t be any US troops being shot at on US fucking soil.

“Look, man,” Danny eyes him doubtfully. “I’m sure you’re used to this whole GI-Joe-I-don’t-need-a-doctor-just-give-me-some-vodka-and-some-duct-tape… sort of thing. But I’d much prefer not to have you bleed out on my porch. If only because explaining it to the HPD will be far more hassle than I’m willing to deal with.”

Danny’s assertion has the guy actually struggling to get up. Like he might honestly be intending to leave. Like there is any way he’ll be able to walk anywhere without just collapsing in the bushes after a couple of steps and then bleed out over there instead.

“No hospital, no cops,” warzone guy gasps again, but – kudos to him – actually managing to get his feet under him even if the house is very much still doing most of the heavy lifting of taking most of his weight. “No one can know I’m here. If anyone gets involved…” He sways slightly, blinking rapidly, most likely about to pass out or at the very least fall right back over.

Danny is already beside him, pulls the guy’s arm around his shoulders to help hold him up.

Then he pauses. “Wait,” Danny then raises a rather unimpressed eyebrow. “Don’t tell me this is some sort of national security thing. Because if my daughter’s propensity for emulating Disney princesses by adopting every single stray she comes across somehow means I’m now involved in keeping the nation’s secrets, I’m absolutely suing Disney for... I don’t know, damages? Distress? Prematurely giving me grey hair?”

Steve blinks at him slowly, clearly trying to smirk, though his strength is also just as clearly waning, his pallor far too pale for Danny’s comfort. This guy needs to lie down and have his wounds looked at and, well, right now for all of his rather impressive collection of weapons, he also doesn’t seem like much of a threat, barely able to keep his eyes open as he is.

Ah, damnit all.

Danny starts moving them inside, towards the living room, deposits the guy on his couch, before turning towards his daughter, thinking she’s seen enough human flesh wounds for today, and definitely not wanting her to be around in case the guy actually dies on him.

“Gracie,” he says, keeping an eye on utterly-insane-stranger in front of him, currently trying to breathe through the pain the move to their living room likely has him in. “Why don’t you get started on your homework as you were supposed to.”

“But Danno-,“ she immediately protests, of course much rather wanting to stay.

“Grace,” he says, brings out the dad voice. “No arguing.”

She pouts even as she goes to do as asked, but not without throwing him an exasperated look he is fairly certain she might have copied from Danny himself, even shakes her head at him like he is being utterly unreasonable.

_Honestly._

Danny turns back to the guy as soon as his daughter has disappeared to her room.

“Okay,” he says. “You gotta give me something else beyond some shitty movie line about the world or the nation or whatever else being at stake to keep me from calling an ambulance and the police within the next couple of seconds.”

The guy is lying back on the couch now, hums vaguely, his eyes mostly closed.

“Commander Steve McGarrett, Navy SEALs,” he then mumbles, before rattling off some number that Danny is just going to assume serves as some sort of identification, adds another string of digits that sounds like a phone number. “Call my CO at base.”

Before he promptly passes out.

Danny stares at the clearly-not-entirely-sane stranger now unconscious and still bleeding on his couch for a couple more seconds, before finally huffing.

“Ah, fuck it all,” he swears to himself.

And then he goes to get the first aid kit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Just some fluff :) And I'm really hoping to keep it to just one more chapter for once instead of letting it mutate into yet another far-longer-than-intended fic to add to all the others XD 
> 
> Also, it was difficult to get across in the description, but Danny's house isn't actually the McGarrett house in this but rather one of the neighboring houses, which is how Steve ended up in his backyard at all.
> 
> Would love to know what you think :D


	2. Chapter 2

When Steve regains consciousness, it’s already dark out. Which means, at least a couple of hours must have passed since he happily keeled over in someone else’s living room.

He blinks up at the unfamiliar ceiling for a couple of seconds, as his minds runs through everything that happened before he lost consciousness.

Finally getting a lead on Hesse, tracking the man who murdered his father to a warehouse at the harbor, being fully aware that it had been a little too easy to find the intel that brought him there. So, he hadn’t been at all surprised at the ambush that had awaited him at the warehouse itself, instead promptly taking cover and happily exchanging bullets with the guys Hesse had apparently hired to help him out, cheerfully adding a couple of the grenades he’d had stashed away in his various pockets for good measure, only belatedly realizing that there must have been some sort of gas – or something along those lines – stored in the warehouse somewhere when the panicked yelling from the other side gave him just enough warning to dart outside in time to avoid the worst of the explosion, still being caught in its blast, finding himself being flung straight into the water.

Steve _knows_ he shouldn’t have gone in without backup, shouldn’t have followed that lead to the warehouse in the harbor by himself. But on this island that once used to be his home, where the few good memories he’s been able to hold on to over the years tend to disappear beneath the resentment for his father and grief and regrets and guilt, Steve simply doesn’t know who to trust in this place, who he could possibly rely on to the point of trusting them to watch his back during a shootout. Because, between someone who might stab him in the back and not having a partner at all? Steve much prefers going in alone. That way at least he can be certain of the direction the bullets will be coming from.

Despite how much harder being on his own has been making his current hunt of Hesse.

Because only reflex from years of training had let him instantly react after finding himself flung into the water - despite having been caught in the concussive blast - by diving under and away, body working on autopilot, only coming up for air once he was treading water behind some ship some distance away, invisible from the shore, where Hesse might be trying to spot him.

Waiting until Hesse and his people had to take off, if only to avoid the emergency services that were starting to show up at the site of the explosion.

He’d already been lagging by then, strength quickly running out, but he’d still somehow made it back to shore, close to his father’s house, without getting eaten by something or other. He remembers dragging himself off the beach, towards his house with the last of his strength, having to take a couple of breaks in between, resting for a few minutes at a time before getting himself up and moving again, trying to reach his own property. Not quite making it.

He’d been barely able to keep himself upright by that point, strength gone, blood loss making him a little woozy, exhaustion pulling at him. He remembers taking another break, just resting for a couple of seconds to gather strength for the last bit of distance to his own house, trying to catch his breath, trying to push aside the pain from his wounds and the cracked ribs and the blood loss and already having been running on empty for weeks beforehand.

And then, suddenly, the little girl who’d popped up in Steve’s vision where he’d been leaning against his neighbor’s house, all bright smiles and excited chatter as she talked at him, apparently not at all intimidated by the stranger bleeding all over her lanai. He’d still tried to reassure her, hoping she wouldn’t start screaming about the stranger in her backyard.

Only for her to seem utterly delighted the very moment Steve had murmured some stupid joke about being a SEAL, which in his mind is simply just another way of saying ‘the good guys’, as she’d immediately started chattering at him about her animals and always fixing them and how she was obviously also going to fix Steve and how he had to meet her Danno.

Who Steve had admittedly assumed might be a dog with the way she kept talking about her collection of pets and ‘her Danno’ together, intermixing the two in her stories. But who actually turned out to be the little girl’s dad, a not-so-imposing figure who - once he appeared on the porch - still somehow managed to take up a truly magnificent amount of space despite his size, all gruff voice and irritated words and brash gestures.

And oh-so-gentle hands as he helped hold Steve upright.

The man, _Danno_ , who had then even brought Steve inside, settled him on his couch. Despite his continued complaints about just how ludicrous he apparently found Steve’s claim about needing to avoid hospitals.

Although, going by the fact that Steve is very much still on the man’s couch instead of in a hospital bed, it seems like the man didn’t call anyone after all, just like Steve asked.

Which is good.

He tries to lean up slightly, ignores the pain shooting through his ribs and his stomach at the movement, even as he glances down at himself.

His tac vest is gone, as is his shirt, and his pant leg has been slit open all the way to above his knee where one of the bullets got him. His eyes catch on the bandages adorning his arm, his stomach, his leg. They feel like they’re surprisingly decent, tight enough to compress but not so tight as to restrict blood flow.

Seems like, despite all his protests about how Steve needed to get to a hospital, his neighbor had apparently decided to tend to his wounds right here after all, so it goes to reason the man didn’t call the authorities at all. Just because Steve asked him not to.

_Huh._

That’s rather… confusingly accommodating. And also a huge relief.

As wonderful as some decent medical would be, going to the hospital simply isn’t an option. Because, first of all, for the first time since Hesse shot his father, Steve suddenly has an advantage. Hesse doesn’t know whether Steve is alive, can’t be sure whether he survived the explosion. Sure, the man might assume, might err on the side of caution and plan for Steve’s inevitable reappearance at some point. But Hesse can’t be certain.

But secondly - and also more importantly - if Danno and his daughter had brought Steve to the hospital, Hesse would inevitably find out about their involvement, as brief and superficial as that involvement might have been, and that would immediately put the father-daughter duo on Hesse’s hit list. And that just can’t happen.

So, yeah, definitely no hospital. And definitely no cops. Not after what happened to his father and not a single cop from HPD seeming to even be putting all that much effort into solving the case in the aftermath.

Steve feels a rather dark scowl forming on his face at that thought and promptly does his best to push that particular line of thought from his mind. Something to brood about later. For now, he should really figure out what to do next. You know, since he is apparently still in a stranger’s house, on a stranger’s couch.

Though, that reminds him. Just where might his not-entirely-voluntary hosts be?

Steve pushes himself a little more upright, ignores his various pains and aches, the shooting pain from his ribs, the dull throbbing of his stomach and arm, the fact that his leg feels like it is on fire. He hurts everywhere, really.

Once he is in a somewhat sitting position, leaning halfway against the juncture between armrest and backrest of the couch he is on, he holds still, listens for any sounds from around the house.

It’s quiet. Too quiet for there to be anyone else here at the moment.

The house seems to be entirely empty.

Which is more than strange. Has he really been left alone in someone’s home despite the rather suspicious circumstances he appeared in? That seems a little… naively trusting.

He glances around himself, spots his phone on the coffee table next to the couch, right next to a bottle of water, some ibuprofen, and a brightly colored piece of paper. He reaches for his phone and the paper, even as his free hand is already checking for the various weapons still stashed away on his person.

‘Dear Mister Seal,’ the note reads in bright pink letters. ‘We went to Danno’s work. We will be back soon. Please feel better.’ It’s signed ‘Gracie and Danny’ and there are a couple of brightly colored flowers drawn on the bottom of the paper.

It’s adorable and really rather heartwarming.

Steve feels a smile forming on his face and he doesn’t let himself think about just how quickly the piece of paper disappears into one of the many pockets of his pants. Something to be kept. He has so very few truly nice things to hold on to while he is skipping from country to country, hunting the dregs of society, and this little piece of uncomplicated adorableness easily makes the top ten.

And, yes, he is fully aware just how depressing a realization that little fact is.

Muted noises from the entrance area to the house suddenly make him come to rather abrupt attention.

The sounds of keys jingling, being slid into a lock, the door opening slowly, quietly, some shuffling, all of it rather muted, careful. Although, thankfully, it’s not the sort of forced quiet of someone trying to sneak in somewhere, but more like someone is simply trying to disturb the house as little as possible.

Mere seconds later it becomes apparent that Steve’s presence - and him possibly still being passed out on the couch - might not even be the main reason why Danny is being so very careful during his return home. But rather, the fact that he is carrying his daughter, the girl fast asleep, face tucked against her dad’s neck, limbs loose in that trusting way only children ever truly have, dead to the world in the assurance that nothing is going to ever harm her while she is safe in her daddy’s arms.

The sight tugs at something in Steve.

He watches silently from his position on the couch as the other man quietly moves inside, carefully closes the door behind himself, setting the paper bags he is carrying in his free hand aside on the table by the entrance. Paper bags which, may Steve just say, smell absolutely heavenly.

Finally, he turns to glance over at the living room, likely to check on Steve.

Their eyes meet.

The man blinks at him, at Steve who is still on the couch, still hasn’t even fully sat up, probably not having expected him to be awake, or maybe just not having expected him to still be here at all.

But in the end, the man just proceeds to lift a finger of his free hand to his lips in the universal sign of asking for quiet and then wanders off down the hall to settle his daughter into bed.

Steve watches him disappear into a room on the left, can hear some murmured words, some rustling, a warm chuckle.

All of it is just so… domestic, so warm and easy, and there is something honestly tugging at Steve, something that almost makes him want to follow, to step up to that doorway down the hall and watch father and daughter together, greedily wants to drink it in, an image to be tucked away in his memory, to be revisited when he is once more off to some darker, harsher, colder corner of their planet.

It only takes a minute or two for the sounds from down the hall to subside, some more rustling and then his neighbor – who likely has no clue that Steve even lives around here but for some reason still decided to help, not only to let Steve come inside at all when he really had no reason to, but then also settled him on his couch, apparently took care of his wounds instead of insisting on getting him to the nearest hospital, and then even going so far as to let a complete stranger just stay behind by himself in his home while he himself went to work - is stepping back into the hallway, eyes easily finding Steve’s.

Danny pulls the door leading to his own bedroom mostly closed behind him, leaving Gracie where she is now settled in his bed, happily asleep, always delighted when she gets to sleep in his bed – taking up most of the space and beating Danny him to the very edge of his mattress with her pointy knees and sharp elbows – instead of her own.

But, well, considering that there is still a complete stranger camping out on their couch, Danny is simply going to feel much more reassured with his daughter sleeping right beside him instead of in a different room.

Especially, since Danny actually doesn’t intend to kick the guy out. Even if he admittedly hadn’t really expected for Steve to still be here at all by the time he and Gracie got back home.

The dinner rush at the restaurant went by as usual, though Danny had to remind himself several times throughout the night not to let his mind wander too frequently towards thoughts of the stranger resting in his house.

The stranger he’d left behind unconscious on his couch after taking care of his various wounds if only to make sure he wouldn’t be bleeding out while they were gone.

Once Danny had gotten the tac vest off the guy and gotten rid of the shirt, it had become apparent that there were far more wounds than Danny had honestly been expecting, even despite having been able to see some of them through the tears in his clothes beforehand while the man had still been upright.

There had been four actual gunshot wounds after Danny followed the various blood trails on the man, one through-and-through in his leg and three grazing shots of varying severity bleeding freely, a dislocated shoulder, and at least two broken ribs that Danny had been able to feel even with the guy unconscious. And that’s without even mentioning the badly swollen knee, the many bruises, or the countless abrasions on him.

The guy looked like had been quite literally been put through the wringer and Danny honestly has no idea how Steve had still been able to move at all to make it to their backyard for Gracie to come across, much less how he was still lucid enough to argue with Danny or even attempt to leave at the mention of a hospital.

So, stranger or not, somewhat lunatic tendencies – as evidenced by the guy’s refusal to get some real medical care from actual professionals – or not, Danny hadn’t been able to help worrying about him while at the restaurant.

It might have been a different story if this guy had set off any of Danny’s internal alarms. But as it is, Danny hadn’t even worried whether they’d come back to an emptied out house, whether the guy would use the chance of being left alone in their house to rob them blind. Danny trusts his instincts, has always been rather excellent at reading people, a skill only honed over years of working as a cop, dealing with the less-than-reputable characters society has to offer.

And for all of the man’s rather impressive appearance – what with the full tac gear and the face paint and the many weapons – Danny’s instincts were rather adamant about the fact that this guy was utterly harmless.

Well, maybe ‘harmless’ isn’t quite the right term to use here. You know, since Danny is fairly certain Gracie’s newest stray could quite literally kill him with his pinkie if he so desired. But even despite being aware of that fact, there was nothing about this Steve that truly set off Danny’s alarms. Not in the way those with hidden motives or less-than-kind agendas tend to do.

So, Danny had decided to leave the guy to recover on his couch and take Gracie with him to the restaurant no matter how much she begged to be allowed to stay with her ‘Mr. Seal’. Because, certain of his own people instincts or not, Danny does have his limits. And leaving his daughter with a complete stranger alone in their house is certainly one of them.

Point is, the guy had also given off such an obvious lone-ranger vibe that Danny had honestly expected for him to either still be unconscious by the time they got back from the restaurant or to have woken at some point and to have promptly cleared out entirely. Finding him awake and still very much camping out on their couch hadn’t really occurred to Danny as a potential option.

Well, Danny did bring some leftovers from the restaurant. You know, just in case. But that’s entirely beside the point.

“So,” he starts once he is back in the living area. “I see you have rejoined the land of the living.”

“Hm,” the guy hums, shuffling about on the couch, apparently trying to get himself a little more upright without aggravating his wounds too much. Before he adds in a hushed voice, “Thanks for letting me crash here. And for not calling anyone.”

His voice is barely above a whisper, so clearly trying to be mindful of Gracie. Which, well, there is no quicker way to Danny’s heart than any care shown to his daughter, so excuse him if he maybe finds the guy’s whispering honestly rather endearing.

Danny blinks, clears his throat. _Okay, how about we pretend I didn’t just think that, much less about a guy who can likely kill me with very little effort if he so pleases._

Instead, he assures at a normal volume, “You don’t need to whisper. Once kids are out, they are _out_. Nothing less than a truck driving straight through our kitchen is going to wake Gracie now.” He tilts his head humorously. “Quite possibly not even that.”

Going by the way Steve blinks at him, Danny is just going to assume he has no experience whatsoever with little children. But he seems willing enough to just take Danny’s word for it, grinning back a rather goofy grin.

_Yep, ‘endearing’ is definitely not far-off as a descriptor._

Danny just ignores that thought and instead starts making his way over to the entrance where he left the bags with leftovers from the restaurant. You know, the leftovers he brought _just in case_ the stranger might still be here and might possibly be hungry by the time Danny and Gracie got back and, god knows, with all those injuries and the blood loss and the sheer exhaustion Danny can practically feel radiating off the guy, Steve is going to need something to replenish his strength.

Also, yes, Danny is fully aware that his own tendency to fuss over anyone who seems in even the slightest need of care might possibly have something to do with his daughter’s mirrored propensity for taking care of any injured little animals she comes across.

What of it?

He reaches the entrance, grabs the bags with the food, and then glances over at the SEAL still on his couch. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d still be here by the time we got back or whether you might have already taken off to merrily continue on your GI-Joe-ing ways. But I brought you something to eat,” he supplies, wanders over to where he left the paper bags by the door. He grins. “You know, just in case the numerous broken bones and bullet holes might actually succeed in slowing down your escape.”

Steve feels himself grinning back at the man.

Because, yeah, if he weren’t currently incapacitated to the point of not being entirely sure whether he’ll even be able to stay upright if he did try to walk right now, he quite likely would have taken off back home the very instant he woke up.

“Some food would be great,” he returns, now mostly at a normal volume, even if still slightly hushed since he really doesn’t want to wake the little girl sleeping at the end of the hall. “Thanks, Danno.”

It gets him a blink. “It’s ‘Danny’, actually. Danny Williams,” his host supplies easily. “Only my daughter calls me Danno.”

Steve blinks once, twice, tilts his head. Then shrugs. “I quite like Danno,” he returns mock-thoughtfully, like that’s a decision that’s actually up to him to make.

Danny slightly narrows his eyes at him, stares balefully, but after a couple of seconds just sighs in obvious exasperation. Steve is rather determined to simply not think about why poking at this man’s temper is so tempting, such a thrill, a sort of rush running through him at the irritated huff his last comments gets him, despite having known the man for all of a few hours if you want to count Steve’s period of unconsciousness at all.

“You really should take some of those,” Danny finally just gestures at the pill bottle still next to Steve’s phone on the coffee table, apparently deciding to leave the argument regarding his name for now.

Steve immediately waves off the offer of the pills, doesn’t mention that he’s had much worse injuries with far less care, no option to rest, and definitely without any pain medication in sight. “It’s fine,” he says.

Though that seems to be the wrong thing to say.

Because that flippant comment has Danny slowly turning back towards him from where he had just been in the process of wandering past towards the kitchen, food bags in hand.

“ _Fine_?” the man asks incredulously, a frown forming on his face. “It’s ‘fine’, you say?” he repeats, eyes narrowed in such an obviously unimpressed manner it is almost a little humorous. “You’ve been shot multiple times, your shoulder looks like someone might have taken a baseball bat to it and your knee is so swollen it doesn’t even resemble a human joint anymore.” A pause, a sweeping hand gesture clearly meant to encompass all of Steve. “And you say you’re ‘ _fine_ ’?”

Steve blinks, feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards, at the confusingly… irate worry currently being aimed his way.

Though Danny doesn’t really seem to share his amusement, eyes narrowing further. “Listen here, Mr. I’m-above-such-plebian-things-as-feeling-any-pain-even-while-on-the-verge-bleeding-out. I honestly don’t care if the Army has trained the ability to feel pain out of you at SEAL school or not.” A heavy pause. “You want to stay on my couch, then you are damn well taking something against the pain,” he finishes strongly.

“The Navy,” Steve supplies cheerfully, makes sure not to react to the so-very-easily included assumption of him staying on the man’s couch at all.

“What?” Danny asks confusedly, possibly at having his rather spirited rant interrupted.

“It’s the _Navy_ SEALs. The Army has got nothing to do with my training,” Steve repeats helpfully, an honest grin forming on his own face at the banter.

Danny promptly snorts rather derisively, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I could not _possibly_ care less about where exactly you got your lemming-like lack of survival instincts.” Then a finger pointing straight at Steve. “Take the damn pills,” he orders just before he swings back around to finally disappear into the kitchen.

Steve grins to himself.

And very actively does not think about the fact that it’s been a long time since someone thought to worry about his pain levels. Don’t get him wrong. His team cares very much about him being alright, would walk through fire to make sure he stays alive and, if at all possible, that he keeps all of his limbs intact. His COs care. The entire damn Navy cares, even if only in an abstract manner, just based on the fact that he is one of them. But this? Someone worried about his _comfort_? For no apparent reason other than not wanting him to be in pain in the first place? Yeah, that’s something he doesn’t get very often. Or, at all, really.

It’s nice. _Really_ nice.

Almost disorientatingly so.

Danny starts swearing at him, loudly and colorfully, the moment Steve appears in the doorway of the kitchen, admittedly holding on to the doorjamb to help keep himself upright, but drawn in by the promise of food and the rather heavenly smell coming from this part of the house.

Danny – who had apparently been intending to bring the food to Steve to eat in the living room instead – grumbles and complains and calls him an idiot for getting up in the first place, even as the man has his shoulders carefully wedged beneath Steve’s good arm as he helps him over to the kitchen island, gently settling him on one of the stools there, calling him a moron of the highest order along the way while handing him an icepack to put on his knee.

Steve grins, ignores the pain radiating from everywhere, and does his best to soak up as much of the honest worry from someone who has absolutely no reason to worry about Steve at all as he can.

Then there is the food.

The food that Danny warms up for him and which is honestly divine.

Steve actually moans at the first couple of bites, despite not really knowing what it is he is eating, just that it’s pasta and some sort of meatballs in a sauce so delicious Steve is honestly tempted to lick the remainders out of the container, lest he waste any. Manners be damned.

“Jesus,” he says around a mouthful of food. “This is insanely good.”

“Why thank you,” Danny grins at him from across the kitchen island, something so smug and satisfied in his expression as he watches Steve eat. “I appreciate the compliment.”

Steve blinks at Danny, then at the containers of food in front of him, then back at Danny. He tilts his head. “You made this?” he asks intrigued.

“Indeed, I did,” Danny nods, grin still in place. “It’s what I do. I have a restaurant in town.”

“Huh,” Steve returns thoughtfully even as he takes another bite, watching his host intently.

It has admittedly been rather hard to get a decent read on Danny.

The man is definitely fit, moves like someone who’s had at least some sort of training, and definitely has the – for Steve easily recognizable – constant situational awareness of his surroundings that only those who’ve already made it through a couple of life-or-death situations in their lives ever have. But nothing about this house or anything beyond the way Danny himself watches Steve rather intently in return so much as hints at him actually having a job that would lead to that sort of ingrained behavior.

A conundrum.

Steve kind of loves those, loves puzzles and figuring out things that make no sense but somehow still _do_ , if only you figure out how to correctly fit the available pieces of information together.

 _Well, we **are** neighbors_, he thinks to himself. Not that Danny knows that yet. But it at least means that Steve will have all the time in the world to figure Danny out. Or, well, at least for as long as Steve will still be on Oahu at all.

Danny is watching him with the exact same sort of intensity in return, clearly trying to assess him, figure him out. Which is kind of a thrill all on its own.

“You’re welcome to just stay on the couch for the night,” Danny finally speaks up in the surprisingly comfortable silence between them, seemingly making up his mind on whether to trust Steve in his house now that he is conscious. “Those wound dressings will need to be changed in the morning anyway and Gracie will be devastated if she doesn’t get to at least say goodbye and make sure you have been sufficiently fixed. I can drive you home, or back to base, or wherever it is your sort hides out during the day, afterwards.” Then, his eyes narrow slightly, a mixture of mocking amusement and teasing exasperation shimmering through them. “Though I draw the line at dropping you off somewhere in the middle of the jungle for you to traipse through the underbrush in your current state. It’s civilization or nothing at all. If you want to commit suicide by getting all your wounds infected, you do it on your own time.”

It’s almost a little disorientating, this kindness, the way Danny seems to be willing to just take him in, take care of him. For no discernable reason.

Sure, he has been grumbling about Steve’s refusal to go to a hospital and have a real doctor check out his injuries and he’s been complaining about Steve’s determination to make his way from the couch to the kitchen by himself, but despite his grousing, so far he has shown Steve nothing but utter kindness.

Despite the fact that Danny has nothing to gain from being nice to him, just as he has nothing to lose from kicking him out.

Since when is that something people do? Showing kindness just because.

Then again… Maybe it’s not so much a thing _people_ do, but rather just something purely Danny.

Steve briefly considers whether he should mention that they’re actually neighbors, that his home isn’t nearly as far away or as difficult to reach as the man is clearly assuming. But something has him hesitate.

Because it’s been a long time since he had something like this, just simple company in a place that felt like _this_ , so warm and homely and welcoming.

His father’s house is more of a mausoleum and Steve hasn’t managed to get a single night of decent rest in the house. And before coming back here a few weeks ago, it’s been years since his life started to consist of constantly moving from ship to ship, from base to base, from generic bunk to generic bunk, always temporary, never truly somewhere to call your own.

It’s been longer than he is even willing to truly think about since he simply had a meal with just one other person, the sort of meal that is more about the company than about the food or even just plain sustenance. Not the perfunctory mess hall kind of meals with his team, not the scarfing down some rations in the field, not some fancy celebratory dinner whenever one of his team is being awarded yet another medal, not getting takeout for just himself to eat without any company whatsoever.

He honestly can’t even remember the last time he had a meal somewhere that felt so homely, so lived in, so warm and comfortable and welcoming. And even if this isn’t his home, even if Steve didn’t know Danny and Gracie existed at all just a couple of hours ago, he can’t help but want to soak up everything about this just for a couple more hours, just a little longer of this warm comfort, sitting at the kitchen island and someone across from him who seems interested in nothing but some general conversation and watching him enjoy the food he made.

“Thanks,” he finally returns in response to Danny’s offer to let him stay the night. “That would be great.”

It comes out with quite a bit more heavy sincerity than he had honestly intended.

Danny gives a sort of half-shrug, mouth quirking up slightly on one side, but eyebrows raised as he continues to watch Steve, apparently picking up on some of the sincerity. Although in the end, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push.

A fact that Steve is rather grateful for.

And given the chance, he is absolutely determined to sneak another few hours of this, to soak up as much of it as he possibly can. If nothing else, his lifestyle has certainly taught him to fully appreciate whatever small pleasures of life he comes across whenever he can. Things like letting himself bask in the easy comfort that this house and the man across from him practically radiate.

For as much time as the universe might possibly deign to grant him here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, I should have known that the whole only-two-chapters goal I set myself was doomed from the start. Though you guys with your awesome comments and suggesting even more things to include in the fic certainly didn’t help matters either XD Admittedly, I also hadn’t expected that this single scene would take up an entire chapter… So, for a more realistic estimate, maybe I’ll be able to keep to three or four chapters? Possibly? Hopefully?
> 
> Would love to know what you think :D
> 
> And thanks so much for all your wonderful comments and kudos!


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Steve is still there.

Danny doesn’t know why he is so surprised by that fact. You know, since the guy has several bullet wounds, a couple of broken ribs if Danny hadn’t been entirely mistaken during his examination yesterday, and can barely manage the way from the couch to the kitchen due to his still very much swollen knee. Steve wouldn’t be able to get himself anywhere without being in rather tremendous amounts of pain.

Which doesn’t change the fact that somehow Danny had still expected him to be gone by morning.

Still, he lets none of his surprise show, and instead proceeds to casually make breakfast for three instead of two as though that had always been the plan, all the while listening to Gracie chatter at Steve, his little girl so very excited at having found her newest adoptee still on their couch and ‘all better now’.

Which, credit where credit is due. Despite having his arm in that makeshift sling Danny made for him yesterday to protect his shoulder and despite the definite limp as he crosses the room, clearly unable to fully put his weight on his injured leg, Steve somehow still manages to convince Gracie that it doesn’t really hurt anymore, that he’s pretty much entirely fixed and that the only reason he’s still here is because Danny nagged him into it, made him stay so he could make sure that Steve takes it easy.

“I’m fine, really. All healed up,” Steve says happily, cheerfully, none of the pain he must definitely still be in showing on his face at all, before leaning down to whisper to Gracie all faux-secretly, “Your Danno is just worried, so he is making me rest a little longer.”

It’s said conspiratorially, like he fully expects her to commiserate with him about Danny’s tendency to fuss.

Danny hides his grin as he turns back towards the stove, knowing Steve is going to be disappointed. Danny may fuss, but he’s got nothing on his daughter, as Steve is likely to find out soon.

Just as expected, Grace delightedly beams up at Steve all cheerfully in agreement. “I _told_ you Danno could fix you,” she declares brightly.

Steve blinks at her once. “You did,” he then confirms with an easy grin.

“Danno is the _best_ ,” his monkey adds on with a decisive nod and with that utter conviction in her voice that _her_ daddy really is the greatest and all the other kids claiming differently simply don’t know what they’re talking about.

It makes Danny melt every single damn time to hear it.

After breakfast, he more or less orders Steve back to the couch. Because, if the guy actually intends to stick around then someone has to make sure his wounds are healing as they should. You know, since Steve himself doesn’t really seem to see the need to take it easy at all.

So, Danny makes him sit, fully intent on changing the multitude of bandages, all the while Gracie sits next to Steve, talking about school and Mister Hoppy and the squirrel they ‘fixed’ last week, chatting at the man happily. As always, the brightest thing to exist at any given time on this entire fucking planet.

And usually Danny would protest her being here, for all of the many animals they’ve fixed together, seeing another person as… banged-up as Steve is, simply isn’t something he wants his little girl to ever see.

However, while just checking lighter wounds, some of the abrasions along Steve’s side, Danny can’t help but note how Steve manages to always angle himself in a way that Grace doesn’t actually get to see what’s hiding underneath the bandages, distracting her by telling her some – hopefully exaggerated – stories about his job or asking her questions that have her running off to her room to get something to show him at the exact right point in time that she doesn’t actually get so much as a glance of any of his more severe wounds.

Which… well, Danny really doesn’t know what to make of that. Usually it’s just him trying to protect Gracie from the ugliness this world has to offer, so this is definitely new. He ignores the rather warm fuzzy feeling spreading through his chest at seeing it.

When Danny comes back from putting the first aid kit away again, he finds himself pausing in the doorway to the living room, stopped in his tracks by the image that greets him.

He blinks.

And blinks some more.

The image isn’t going away.

An image which includes not only the-admittedly-somewhat-impressive Navy SEAL, once more stretched out on the couch in his living room, apparently having been coaxed into lying back and ‘resting’ by Gracie. But also his little girl in the process of cheerfully tucking her best pink fuzzy blanket around the guy, while she happily chatters at Steve, explaining to him how her Danno always tucks the blanket _just like this_ , so that’s the best way and will thus – _obviously_ – help Steve feel better really soon.

But that’s still not the thing that gives him pause. Because Danny is rather familiar with his daughter’s need to take care of anything and anyone she deems in need of it.

No, the thing that gives him pause is the slight, almost hidden smile on Steve’s face, the way he lets himself be tucked in beneath a blanket that barely covers him to his knees, never mind the fact that it must be far too warm to be stuck underneath a blanket in the current weather at all. The way he looks at Gracie like she is some sort of apparition or possibly some celestial creature sent to earth, a look that says Steve is about two seconds away from wrapping Gracie in blankets and bubble wrap and hide her away from the world never to be touched by the ugliness that might find her there.

Danny is rather familiar with the feeling.

+++

They spend the day pretty much the same way as they did yesterday.

Which more or less translates to, Danny and Gracie leaving for the restaurant, while Steve remains stuck on the couch. To rest. Well, at least that’s what he is supposed to according to Danny.

Instead, Steve goes snooping, at least a little, needs to know a little more about his unexpected hosts before he can even attempt to feel safe here, to truly relax. Sure, he doesn’t go beyond some surface snooping, doesn’t go too far, doesn’t snoop into things that look like they are too private for a complete stranger to be sticking his nose into, if only because that would truly be a sad way of thanking Danny for letting Steve stay at all, for taking care of him, for – and this is the part that baffles Steve most – so clearly _worrying_ about him.

Still, there is something about Danny that’s just… off, something that sets off Steve’s alarms, just some things that don’t quite fit with the man’s I’m-just-a-cook persona. Like, the way he moves, his constant awareness of his surroundings, the ankle holster the man didn’t take off even in his own home like being armed is more natural than not carrying a weapon on his person, the way he is clearly able to read Steve’s movements, his intent before he ever gets around to actually doing anything.

That’s the sort of thing that is _taught_ , taught by teachers or life itself, possibly even taught by combat but at the very least by being in so many situations where getting out unharmed isn’t entirely self-evident that you simply develop the reflexes to improve your own chances of survival.

And for all that he doesn’t suspect his host of having any sort of nefarious motives, Steve still _needs_ to know where Danny got those reflexes from, needs to know whether it’s military training or simply a shitty life that taught him to look at the world like someone trained for combat might.

It doesn’t even take him all that long to find his answer. In the form of a large picture, nicely framed and hanging in the entrance way. A picture of Danny right smack in the middle of what must be an entire police department of cops at some sort of party, all of them grinning at the camera in various poses, clearly a celebration of something, but all of them in uniform.

 _Ah_ , Steve thinks to himself. _He’s a cop. Or at least, he used to be_.

That’s good, reassuring. Because it explains the oddities Steve noticed and soothes his rather prickly instincts.

Sure, this revelation also brings up even more questions Steve would really like an answer to. Like, why Danny clearly isn’t a cop anymore, whether he quit for some reason or whether he was kicked out. Or like, how a cop could possibly ever afford to buy a house right on the beach. Or like, what happened to the wedding band he can see on the picture-Danny’s finger, hand wrapped around the bottle he is toasting the camera with. Or like, how he ended up on Oahu of all places, when the signs in the background and the badges and so many other things, rather clearly identify that particular police department to be located in New Jersey instead of Hawaii.

_So many damn questions._

But.

Those are all things he can actually ask Danny, rather than snooping further into the man’s life, now that Steve’s most pressing question of where Danny got his training, his reflexes, his situational awareness has been answered.

So, instead maybe Steve should use being on his own right now to skip over to his father’s house for a bit. Take a shower and get himself a change of clothes. If only because it’s likely going to drive Danny a little bit crazy trying to figure out how Steve managed that at all.

He grins to himself, absolutely determined not to examine just why the idea of needling Danny even the slightest bit seems like the best entertainment he could possibly have come up with.

+++

Danny opens the door to his house, Gracie beside him, his monkey for once perfectly quiet, all of her attention focused on the plate in her hands. A plate with the desert they brought for Steve, perfectly decorated by Gracie herself and now being carried with a sort of focus that is utterly adorable, lest she destroys the little flower patterns Kai – Danny’s pastry chef – helped her create on the plate with sprinkles and chocolate sauce.

He resolves not to examine his own relief when the slight rustling sounds from the living room make it clear that their unexpected houseguest is actually still there, hasn’t taken off while they were gone.

It’s not like Danny was worried for his own sake. No, it’s only because… Gracie would have been so very disappointed if Steve had left without saying goodbye after she’d worked so hard on the desert. Yeah, that’s the only reason.

Really.

He lets Gracie enter ahead of him, throwing out a greeting as he balances their actual dinner in his hands, while closing the door behind himself.

He can’t help the way his lips quirk up the slightest bit when he finally wanders past the two of them now in the living room, Gracie enthusiastically explaining what she made for Steve.

“Real food first, then desert,” he reminds the both of them almost absently, when he sees Steve already reaching for the spoon Gracie is holding out for him.

“But Danno,” Gracie immediately complains.

He pauses, then raises his eyebrows at her, waiting. She huffs, deflating, looking all disappointed and sad and forlorn. Never let it be said his daughter doesn’t know how to pout.

Though… Danny blinks. Because he certainly hadn’t expected the grown-ass SEAL sitting beside her to look even more dejected than his daughter at being denied sweets before dinner, a look that is almost criminally endearing on him and certainly far more devastating in its effect.

Danny blinks some more, makes himself focus, before he is pointing warningly at Steve pouting alongside his daughter and repeats strongly, “Dinner first.”

Steve’s pout only kicks up a notch.

Danny makes himself turn away, lest he finds himself unintentionally budging on one of their more obvious house rules, shaking his head as he goes. Whether at Steve’s pout or the temptation Danny feels to simply give in, he himself isn’t entirely sure.

Dinner is relaxing and surprisingly fun, full of jokes and stories. And suddenly it’s growing dark out and Steve is still there and Danny completely forgot to make good on his promise that he’d bring the guy to… wherever it is he needs to go on the island if he’d like.

Although, considering the way the man is comfortably sprawled over Danny’s couch, once more tucked underneath one of his monkey’s fuzzy blankets, all the while wrapped up in a rather intense game of Uno with Grace, Steve certainly doesn’t seem to mind.

Well, alright then.

Danny watches them for another couple of moments, considers whether he should bring it up, but then decides otherwise.

Though, when Danny finally announces that it’s time for bed, he promptly finds two almost identical pouts aimed his way, rather clearly begging for a little more time. This time he isn’t prepared for it, and while he is more than used to the one on his daughter’s face, the almost identical one on the grown SEAL’s face, however… Apparently not so much.

As evidenced by the fact that he promptly folds before he even really gets a chance to think about it, already agreeing to another round.

He ignores the conspiratorial grin he can see Gracie and Steve trade victoriously between themselves at getting their way. Same for the lasting slight smirk tucked in at the edges of Steve’s smile.

Danny sighs to himself.

Honestly.

+++

Steve relaxes back on the couch, listening to the quiet sounds of Danny settling his daughter into bed.

There is something so… soft, calming, _soothing_ about this, about the way this father-daughter duo is with each other. Steve can’t even recall the last time he got to witness something like this, a family just _being_ together, all natural ease and comfort and home in its truest form.

It warms something in him, feels like unexpectedly coming across something precious, just witnessing it, being permitted to _see_ feels like something filling gaps - little cracks and yawning chasms - inside himself he hadn’t even been aware of, like finding something he hadn’t even known he was missing.

He doesn’t know what to make of the warmth curling through him at the sleepily mumbled, “Night, Danno.”, he can hear from down the hall, followed by a soft, “Night, Monkey. Sleep tight.”, not to even mention the earlier “Night, Steve.”, thrown his own way. He can’t remember the last time someone wished him a good night. It must have been when he himself was still a kid.

It honestly throws him at the same time as it makes him feel so utterly comfortable, despite helplessly wondering how he can feel so soothed and calm and just simply content in a place he’s only even known about for barely twenty-four hours, when he hasn’t ever felt this _at home_ in his own father’s house.

He doesn’t know what to do with that particular revelation, butpromptly resolves to simply ignore it and instead to soak up as much of this little piece of perfect contentedness as he possibly can. Before duty will once more call him away.

+++

Somehow they develop a sort of routine. Danny doesn’t even really know how it happens, but suddenly an entire week has passed and it’s the next weekend and he still has a Navy SEAL camping out on his couch.

Though… Danny narrows his eyes slightly. He does wonder where Steve keeps getting his definitely fresh clothes from, considering that he had arrived on their porch without any sort of luggage, but doesn’t really seem in short supply of, well, anything.

But the point is, somehow, even within just a single week, they settle in a far-too-easy-to-fall-into-considering-they-only-met-a-couple-of-days-ago routine. Steve stays on their couch to recover, they have breakfast in the morning, then Gracie goes to school while Danny goes to work, runs his restaurant, before coming home in the evening with dinner. Gracie is utterly delighted at suddenly having two people she can chatter her entire day at and even more so when she realizes that Steve is perfectly willing to help her with her various projects for school, no matter how covered in glitter he might end up in the course of it.

And once Gracie is asleep, knackered after yet another exciting day, when it’s just Danny and Steve, they simply… talk. About things that Danny would have thought should be far too personal on both their ends to share with a near stranger, but there is just something so easy and natural about it, about talking and simply having Steve _there_ …

Danny does his best not to think about any of it. At all.

+++

“By the way, why in the world did you sound so surprised when you first saw me at the stunning realization that I wasn’t a dog?” Danny suddenly asks, as the two of them relax on the couch, Steve actually sitting mostly upright for once, his ribs not hurting as badly anymore while just simply breathing.

It takes Steve a second to follow his train of thought and realize that he is talking about their initial meeting with Steve himself casually bleeding out in Danny's backyard, then he shrugs. “Grace kept talking about all the animals she always fixes and reasoning how she’d help me and how she’s never fixed a seal and then she kept chattering about how I had to meet her Danno. I kind of assumed you must be part of her collection.”

Danny huffs, but Steve absolutely sees the warm smile tucked into the corners of lips, “Honestly, one day she is going to adopt a shark or a pet tiger or whatever other definitely-not-supposed-to-be-a-pet this pineapple-infested hellhole of an island has got to offer.”

Steve grins.

+++

They sit in silence for once. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable but it certainly isn’t particularly comfortable either. You know, since Steve just told Danny about his father’s so very recent death.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Danny finally says lowly, nothing beyond that. No condolences, no pity, no over-the-top concern. Thankfully.

Steve shrugs, tries to pretend nonchalance in the vague hope that one day he’ll feel it as well, “He was a cop.”

Like that makes it okay, like the constant threat of something happening to his father ever since he was a kid makes up for actually losing him, like that explains anything at all. Going by the way Danny is nodding slowly in reaction, it actually might.

Steve breathes in, lets the images of the good times – as few memories as he has that aren’t overshadowed by resentment and estrangement from his own family – pass through his mind.

And for once he doesn’t push aside the thought that right here, in the barely illuminated living room of someone who should be a stranger but doesn’t feel like it at all, Steve finds himself able to breathe more freely than he has in a long time.

+++

“We were separated, only seeing each other when we were fighting in court,” Danny says, hates remembering that time where he had honestly started to hate Rachel for her way of handling things and purposely shattering what little good still remained of their family. “But for some reason she still saw the need to lie to me about what she was doing with some other guy. She acted like she was having an affair, despite the two of us not being together anymore.”

He doesn’t say how realizing that Rachel had been lying to him back then, her pretense of working late instead of admitting to seeing anyone else while they’d been getting divorced, made Danny wonder whether said relationship might not have been going on for quite a bit longer already at that point, whether her pretending might have been a sort of habit by then, whether she might not have actually been cheating on him while they had supposedly still been trying to make things work between them.

He doesn’t like thinking about it.

But going by the understanding he can see in the other man’s eyes, Danny thinks Steve might still get it anyway.

+++

“Wait,” Danny holds up a hand, clearly asking for a moment to let him wrap his head around what Steve just told him. “You’re telling me, this entire thing of you hiding out on my couch and not wanting to go to a hospital or to the cops really _is_ about national security?”

Steve shrugs with a smirk. “Well, yeah.”

A pause.

“Oh, screw Disney,” Danny then huffs, even as he gets up to get the two of them another round of beers, grumbling all the way to the fridge and back.

Steve just grins, happy and content and absolutely determined not to think about any of this ever coming to an end.

+++

Danny can see his daughter becoming more and more attached to Steve with each passing day, the way she sprints past Danny the very moment the door to their house is unlocked when they get home, pure delight at getting to chatter her entire day at Steve who’ll be waiting on the couch and ooh and aah over every tiny little detail she tells him.

Danny is honest enough with himself to admit that by this point he isn’t much better than his monkey. The thought that Steve isn’t going to be part of their lives forever, that he’ll likely be taking off never to be heard of again just as soon as he is healed… Yeah, no.

Steve leaving at some point might be inevitable, but for now Danny does his best not to think about it.

Steve isn’t fully healed yet anyway, can’t even really walk too far yet. So, he will be stuck on their couch at least for a little bit longer.

It will just have to do.

+++

However, everything comes to a head, barely two weeks after Steve’s first appearance in their lives.

When Danny and Gracie take Steve with them to the restaurant only for the second time. Because Danny needs to prep for the dinner rush and if he’s going to cook for the three of them, he might as well do it in his professional kitchen with Gracie and Steve right there instead of always taking it home with him and having to reheat everything.

And so what if he maybe has a bit of a thing for watching Steve eat his cooking and listen to him exclaim over how it’s the best food he’s ever tasted. Steve’s not-entirely-suited-for-young-ears moans whenever he particularly likes one of Danny’s dishes have absolutely nothing to do with it either. Really.

However, in the end they barely make it into the kitchen of the restaurant, only to be promptly greeted by a group of armed goons, apparently looking for Steve. Goons who then actually dare waving their guns around in the same room his daughter is in.

Danny takes definite exception to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some more of Danny and Steve doing whatever they want without my say-so XD Though, the next chapter will finally be the last one. No more chapter extensions, I promise. (Though, there might admittedly be an epilogue or two XD)
> 
> Would love to know what you think :D
> 
> And thanks for all your wonderful comments and kudos!


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